Lord Hartledon was surprised.  Val’s attack was so savage.  He was talking off his superfluous wrath, and the wine he had taken did not tend to cool his heat.  Lord Hartledon, vexed at the injustice, lost his temper; and for once there was a quarrel, sharp and loud, between the brothers.  It did not last long; in its very midst they parted; throwing cutting words one at the other.  Lord Hartledon quitted the room, to join his guests; Val Elster strode outside the window to cool his brain.

But now, look at the obstinate pride of those two foolish men!  They were angry with each other in temper, but not in heart.  In Percival Elster’s conscience there was an underlying conviction that his brother had acted only in thoughtless impulse when he carried the misfortune to the Rectory; whilst Lord Hartledon was even then full of plans for serving Val, and considered he had more need to help him than ever.  A day or two given to the indulgence of their anger, and they would be firmer friends than ever.

The large French window of the dining-room, opening to the ground, was flung back by Val Elster; and he stepped forth into the cool night, which was beautifully fine.  The room looked towards the river.  The velvet lawn, wet with the day’s rain, lay calm and silent under the bright stars; the flowers, clustering around far and wide, gave out their sweet and heavy night perfume.  Not an instant had he been outside when he became conscious that some figure was gliding towards him—­was almost close to him; and he recognised Mr. Pike.  Yes, that worthy gentleman appeared to be only then arriving on his evening visit:  in point of fact, he had been glued ear and eye to the window during the quarrel.

“What do you want?” demanded Mr. Elster.

“Well, I came up here hoping to get a word with you, sir,” replied the man in his rough, abrupt manner, more in character with his appearance and lawless reputation than with his accent and unmistakable intelligence.  “There was a nasty accident a few hours ago:  that shark came across his lordship.”

“I know he did,” savagely spoke Val.  “The result of your informing him that I was Lord Hartledon.”

“I did it for the best, Mr. Elster.  He’d have nabbed you that very time, but for my putting him off the scent as I did.”

“Yes, yes, I am aware you did it for the best, and I suppose it turned out to be so,” quickly replied Val, some of his native kindliness resuming its sway.  “It’s an unfortunate affair altogether, and that’s the best that can be said of it.”

“What I came up here for was to tell you he was gone.”

“Who is gone?”

“The shark.”

“Gone!”

“He went off by the seven train.  Lord Hartledon told him he’d communicate with his principals and see that the affair was arranged.  It satisfied the man, and he went away by the next train—­which happened to be the seven-o’clock one.”